Interchange
by Grasspaw
Summary: AU: When Sam is eighteen, John, in order to teach his youngest a lesson, makes a bad call on a hunt. Dean pays the price for it, and Sam... Sam is sick of trying to prove himself. He's done with it.


**So... this idea sort of popped into my head while I was supposed to be asleep and... ya know, it only just now occurs to me how all of my idea seem to come to me when I should be asleep. Heh. Anywhoha, um... yeah. I haven't been sleeping and I'm sort of going into withdrawal right now so I'm a little out of it, but here, have an AU! I own nothing.**

Sam kept up a steady litany of curses under his breath, ripping his jacket off and flinching as pain flared along his ribs. He was _furious_.

"Sam," his father called from behind him, and Sam shook his head mutely, taking a moment to get himself under control.

"That was a stupid call, Dad," he snarled, whirling around to face his father and throwing his jacket off to the side. He didn't much care where it landed. "You could have gotten us all killed with that... that..." He swore explosively, reaching up to rake his hands through his hair. "Dean almost _died_ tonight; do you even care about that?"

"Of course I do," John said roughly.

_"Then why did you tell me to fall back?"_ Sam shouted. "Dean is on a friggin' ventilator because that thing just about ripped his _lung_ out, because you told me to leave, to _not_ stay and watch his back like I'm supposed to!" He whirled around, setting his fists on his hips and breathing deeply, head bowed as he struggled for control. Shouting wouldn't do any good, especially when it came to hunting.

And it always came to hunting.

"Why did you tell me to fall back?" he asked in a low voice, not turning around. He couldn't be sure he wouldn't hurt his father if he faced him.

John's voice was quiet and even and just barely tinged with regret. "I need to know you'll follow my orders, Sam."

The eighteen-year-old's head whipped up, eyes widening. "This was a test," he whispered in horrified realization. "You knew that thing was right there, and you still told me to fall back?"

"Yes."

There was a world of emotions in John's voice, but Sam latched onto one: defiance. He spun around and strode forward across the motel room to stand mere inches away from his father. "I didn't know," he hissed. "I walked away because you told me to, because I didn't see the thing getting close to him. Because if I had known that my brother was in danger, I would _never_ have turned my back on him, and I would _never_ tell someone else to do the same!"

"That's why I had to, Sam," John said flatly. He looked... drained. Sam felt a queer sense of triumph at every line and premature wrinkle in his father's pale face. "No matter what the situation, orders are orders and they need to be followed."

"No," Sam said. "They don't."

They stared at each other silently. Sam thought fleetingly of a letter from Stanford buried in the bottom of his bag, underneath two knives and a sawed-off and a wad of clothing. Story of his life, all packed into a duffel.

"And you know what?" he continued, taking a step back from his father. "I'm done following your orders. I'm sick of this. You would never do something like this to Dean, would you? You never did."

"Dean never needed me to."

"Yeah, well, Dean never needed to end up in the hospital because there was no one watching his back," Sam snapped, but the anger felt almost forced now. He was just _numb_. If he hadn't been there, then... John would have been watching his eldest's back without having to worry about stupid, disobedient little Sammy and whether or not he would follow orders. Dean would be okay.

"You need to learn these things, Sam," John said earnestly. "You'll get yourself killed on a hunt if you don't know how to follow orders."

Sam was sick of messing things up. He was sick of trying to prove himself when he was trapped under his father's thumb.

"I'm done," he said flatly. "You do what you want, I'm going to the hospital." He bent down and grabbed his bag from the floor by his - _and Dean's_ - bed, his jacket from where it had ended up hanging off the chair, and his phone from the table. "Dean needs me."

"What're you taking your bag for?" John asked suspiciously, and Sam laughed bleakly.

"You're an idiot if you think I'm coming back here, John."

He saw shock pass over his father's face and felt only a fierce satisfaction as he slammed the door behind him.

He unlocked the Impala, but only long enough to grab his fake IDs, a handful of credit cards, and a few choice weapons from the trunk. He wasn't an idiot; he knew what he'd need. Assuming, of course, he could actually follow through with his plan...

He kept walking, towards the used car lot. He could always just hotwire a car, but that wasn't really the best plan for long-term use.

A Honda CR-V caught his eye, and ten minutes later Samuel Woodring was driving out in his dark green new-ish car. The hospital was close by, and within ten minutes he was parking and entering the building, heading straight for Dean's room. The only sounds were the soft whooshing of the ventilator and the shrill, steady beeping of the heart monitor. Sam dropped heavily into the chair by his brother's bed, grabbing Dean's hand and not caring if it was a chick-flick moment.

"Hey, Dean... S'me. I know you're not in a coma or anything, just drugged up, but I'm still gonna talk. I mean, it's not like you can hear me, but... Still. I guess I just... needed to say bye." His throat closed up, and he gave a watery laugh. "You remember that letter from Stanford I showed you? You'll probably think I went there. Guess it'll throw you off my trail for a while. Give me time to get the heck outta dodge, huh?" He cleared his throat and let out a watery laugh. "And man, you have no idea how badly I do want to go to school. But I got more important things to worry about. You... you got hurt 'cause of me, Dean. If I hadn't been there, then Dad would have been watching your back instead of mine, and the werewolf never would've gotten the drop on us. That was my fault. Dad doesn't think I can do this. And the truth is... I don't think I can, either. At least not the way I have been. Not with Dad. It's just... the way he _looks_ at me sometimes... It kills me, Dean. And I get so distracted that I get sloppy, and other people pay the price for it, because, Dean, it _hurts_. It hurts that I can't do things right and that Dad is so disappointed in me all the time."

His voice cracked, and he screwed his eyes shut to hold back the tears. "I gotta get out, Dean," he whispered. "You've got no idea how jealous I am of you, do you? I just want Dad to look at me and be proud, just once in my life. The way he looks at you. And I'm never gonna get that here. I'm gonna go solo for a while, probably just for a few months, and maybe once I've ganked enough monsters Dad'll see that I'm a big boy now, huh?"

Dean's left eyebrow twitched. Sam smiled sadly. "Yeah, I don't think so, either. Anyways, I'd better get going. Dad's probably going to come around soon, and I plan to be long gone by the time he gets here." He squeezed his brother's hand one last time. "Bye, Dean. Take care of yourself, okay?"

He stood and walked away, and he didn't look back.

**I have a few other ideas for this 'verse, and one other segment already written. Basically it would just sort of skip around between the years Sam is apart and _why_ it's years, rather than months like he says, and then eventually when Dean and Sam get back together things are... very different. So... let me know what you think? I do love me some reviews.**


End file.
